One and Only
by Writing4nerds
Summary: Futurefic. Set ten years after graduating from high school. Santana revisits her past and tries to navigate through what could have been. Quinntana, with Pezberry and Kurtana friendship. Rated M for future chapters.
1. Chapter 1

**Santana's POV****: Present Day**

If you were to ask my 18-year old self where she saw herself in 10 years she probably would have responded with some smart-ass reply boasting her imminent and colossal career in Hollywood, while being happily married to Brittany S. Pierce. That was, after all, what my plans were upon graduating from McKinley High located in the quaint town of Lima, Ohio. Sure, I spent some time in the University of Louisville shaking pompoms for yet another football team (albeit that team was far better than the mediocre group of boys at McKinley) but that was short lived.

It was only after I was offered a position by my insane ex-cheerleading coach with ulterior motives and an eye awakening conversation with my ex-girlfriend/best friend that I decided to take the plunge, confront my fears and, with Rachel and Kurt's open invitation (or my barging in, but let's not get picky) head off to the Big Apple.

While my head and heart were filled with fantasies of grandeur and the illusion of fame, I'd be lying if I said I didn't spend my first year in New York floundering like a fish out of water. Even after I started taking random dance and singing classes at the extension program from NYADA (which I only agreed to as a means to get Rachel and Kurt off my back) I still never really felt that I was on the right path.

Somewhere amidst that first year in New York I realized that my self-proclaimed prophecy of fame was nothing more than a brainwashed notion I succumbed to during my times in Glee Club. Yes, there was definitely a sense of elation that came with being on stage in high school, singing in front of hundreds who applauded for us, for me. But as I grew older, and the small town of Lima became more of a place to visit filled with memories both bad and good, I came to the realization that THAT wasn't what I wanted at all.

It was actually by mere accident that I finally discovered what I actually wanted to do with the rest of my life. See, Rachel Berry had struck it big her first year in New York, landing her dream role as Fanny in Funny Girl. I guess I wasn't too surprised when it happened, after all, that woman had known what she wanted the minute she plopped out of her mothers uterus.

Anyway, after the show was a big success on Broadway, so too was Rachel. She began getting scripts and audition offers practically overnight. The normally calm and collected Rachel Berry suddenly became exceedingly overwhelmed. The poor thing didn't know the first thing about managing her career.

Enter Santana Lopez. When it became clearly obvious Rachel was in over her head I offered my services until she found a manager she felt more comfortable with. She was hesitant at first, and it wasn't until after I showed up at a meeting with a film producer and landed her an audition that she finally gave me a chance. Of course Rachel was furious at first, because I presented myself as Rachel's manager and agent unannounced. But after I told her I got her the audition, she inevitably came around. I landed her a couple more auditions after that, and after her third audition landed her the second lead in another broadway play she asked me if I would manage her professionally.

That was definitely far from what I expected, and even I doubted my abilities to handle her career full-time. I was nothing more than a college drop out, floundering in life with just my boldness and wit to get me through the world. But Rachel felt otherwise. It was with her encouragement that I decided to enroll at NYU to pursue my degree in Public Relations. She believed in me, and was confident that I would take care of her career to the best of my ability. We hashed out the legalities and the rest, as they say, is history.

There's something about managing that gives me the sense of control and authority that I've always been infatuated with. I'm not stranger to manipulating the people, and I am definitely known as the one who always gets what I want, and will go to any lengths to achieve what I desire. I help people succeed at the things they love, and plus I still get paid rather handsomely without having to sacrifice my privacy. It's my dream job, and as much as I hate to admit it, I owe it all to Rachel Berry. I have been Rachel's agent slash manager now for the past seven years, but she was a best friend long before that. She and Kurt took me in after my train-wreck of a career at Louisville, guided me when I strayed towards cage dancing late at night, and encouraged me when I finally realized what I wanted to do for the rest of my life. Other than their limitless patience and kindness for me, we also endured a difficult hardship our first year together, which brought us closer than anything else could ever have. They had become my family, and for that I am forever grateful.

I make it a point not to tell them how much they mean to me, though. I don't really have to, they've known me long enough to know I don't particularly enjoy having the touchy-feely convos. But they know how I feel about them. If you were to tell my 18 year-old self that I would be best friends with Kurt Hummel and Rachel Berry, I would have most likely disrespectfully disagreed. My, how far I've come.

I was petty and insecure in high school, and used my intense fierceness, and, often times, harsh words to mask my own insecurities. I was cruel to the people that meant everything to me because I didn't know how to be anything else. I had an amazing romance in high school, but a third of that relationship was spent with me in denial about how truly capital G-Gay I actually was, and the last third of that relationship was filled with missed Skype calls and desperate weekend "laundry" trips back home. Even though it was painfully difficult at the time, and I often second-guessed my decision to break-up with her, in the end I know it was the right one to make. I don't regret my relationship with Brittany, I never will. She was the first one to love me for me, and it was with her that I allowed myself, for the first time, to love openly, and freely without consequence. She was the first person that made me believe that I actually could be the good person that she saw in me. While that relationship is long gone, and will never be re-visited, I will always love Brit, and to this day she still remains one of my best friends.

Like I said before, I've come a long way since high school. And it's often at times like right now, when I'm sitting in my favorite coffee shop in Los Angeles, right before the ball of enthusiasm that is Rachel Berry walks in, that I find myself thinking about how everything is different from what I originally planned.

The soft chime from the coffee shop door brings me out of my reverie, and I draw my focus away from the patrons on the other side of the window I'm sitting beside to my fabulous friend who is making her way towards me.

"Sorry I'm late," she apologizes as she moves to take off her coat, and oversized sunglasses. "Traffic was abysmal, as per usual."

"Rach, we've lived in L.A. now for four years. You'd think you would have figured out the traffic by now" I scold as I push her cup of spiced pumpkin latte towards her.

"I know, I know. But honestly, it's Sunday morning at 9:30, why on earth is there traffic on a Sunday? Didn't God intend for this to be a day of rest or something like that?"

I shake my head at my friend across the way, and listen to her gripe about the impatient Los Angeles drivers, and whine how she needs to just hire a full-time driver so she doesn't have to worry about driving ever again. It's the same conversation we have every Sunday when we meet for our weekly coffee dates, a tradition we started when we first moved to L.A. On these days we aren't manager and client, just Rachel and Santana, two friends catching up on anything that is the furthest away from our busy Hollywood lives.

"Rach, I swear if you get a driver I will fire you as my client."

"What? Why? For being smart enough to avoid traffic?"

"No, for being Diva enough to hire yourself a driver. The only people that need full-time drivers are old, rich retired people and maybe Kim Kardashian. I will not allow you to become a lazy celebrity."

"Gee, thanks for keeping me grounded Santana," she deadpans with an eye roll. "What would I ever do without you?"

"Hey, I'm just keepin' it real." She scoffs at my remark and sits further back into her oversized chair, clasping the mug of hot liquid with both her hands. She has relented, I know this because she no longer has anything else to say on the subject.

"So," Rachel clears her throat, as she shifts slightly in her seat. "Have you made your decision yet?" She doesn't look up at me when she asks, because I'm sure she's trying to avoid the scowl that has just made its way onto my face.

"I've told you already," I sigh, exasperated to be re-visiting this topic again. "I don't know yet. But I'm leaning more towards a 'probably not' if I am to be completely honest."

"Why not?" Here comes the trademark whiny voice with the predictable pout. "Santana it's our 10-year high school reunion. We haven't seen some of our friends in years, aren't you even a little curious?"

"What's there to be curious about," I respond with nonchalance. "I have Facebook."

"Yes, which you haven't logged onto since we moved to LA," Rachel reminds me.

"Sorry if my world doesn't revolve around a social media website where people are constantly posting about what the hell they had for lunch."

"Oh really? What has you so busy that you can't keep up with your correspondence?"

"How about your career and all your ridiculous demands?" I retort, crossing my arms across my chest in irritation. There may be some things that have noticeably changed about me since high school, but getting defensive when someone is cornering me or pressuring me about something is definitely _not_ one of them.

"Oh, please. I am not demand-"

"Mattress filled with goose feathers and, a shower made entirely from pearl," I interrupt ticking off the items on my manicured fingers. "In your trailer."

"That was one time," she half yells. "And I told you, I was PMS-ing quite badly that day." I raise an eyebrow at her, to give her the opportunity to be more accurate. "Fine, for that month okay," she relents as she throws her hands up in defeat.

To this day, I still don't know what had gotten into the young starlet. It was her second major movie role in Hollywood, and somehow she had gotten it into her head that she needed to be more Diva-esque. I still blame that Disney actor/douche she was dating but she continues to deny it. Anyway, I had let her go on about her silly demands for while, thinking that maybe she just needed to get it out of her system. But the minute she snapped her fingers at me asking for a Vegan sprouts and portabella mushroom sandwich, hold the crust, I shut that down real quick.

"Anyway, don't think you can change the subject Santana. You're coming to that reunion with me."

"Honestly I don't see what the big deal is," I shrug, trying to mask my disinterest. "Can't you just give everyone my regards and we can all move in with our lives?"

"No. Absolutely not." I avert my eyes towards the coffee mug resting on the table in front of me and let out a defeated sigh. Before I realize it, Rachel is leaning forward and resting her hand on mine, stilling my fingers from chipping away at the worn paint on my coffee mug. "What's the real reason you don't want to go Santana?"

"Nothing, I'm just busy that's all," I offer as convincingly as possible while still avoiding eye contact.

"You and I both know that's bologna." I finally interrupt my feigned fascination with my coffee mug and look up at into kind yet very concerned brown eyes. Of course she can tell that I'm not being completely honest with her. It's just one of the many reminders as to how far our friendship has come. "Spit it out, Lopez."

I narrow my eyes towards her at the sound of my last name. "You know, this whole calling me by my last name deal is a terrible habit, and one that I'm not quite fond of," I accuse, jabbing my pointer finger towards her.

"Yeah, a habit I picked up from you," she defends with a roll of her eyes, another habit she undoubtedly picked up from me. "Now get on with it."

I resign to leaning back into my chair again, my attention now returning towards the patrons on the other side of the glass pane next to me. I chew on the inside of my lip, contemplating the best way to express exactly what it is that I'm thinking. To her credit, Rachel doesn't say anything to speed up my explanation, but rather sits patiently, sipping on her latte, waiting until I'm ready.

"I was a miserable, horrible person in high school to everyone around me. Even, and often times, especially, to the people that were there for me the most. I'm not that person anymore," I explain quietly, running my hand nervously through my hair. "But I'm afraid that when I go back there, that's all they'll remember about me. That's all they'll see."

"That's ridiculous," Rachel says with a dismissive wave of her hand. "Everyone knows you're not the same person."

"Do they, Rach? I mean, think about it. Yeah, I haven't exactly kept in touch, but at the same time, nobody has ever tried to contact me either. Explain that to me, oh wise one." She can't, though. Now it is Rachel who averts her eyes, and I know it's because she knows I'm right. I spent the better majority of my high school career tearing other people down, and pointing out all their flaws in hopes that it would distract from all of my flaws. "It's because no one wanted to keep in touch with Santana 'Satan' Lopez."

Rachel's head snaps up at the last part of my sentence, and the look of concern that she once wore has now been replaced with a look of incredulity. "Do you really think Kurt and I would have allowed you to stay with us if we really believed you were as horrible as you're claiming?" I shrug, because to be honest, they never really invited me to stay with them in the first place. I kind of just showed up at their door. "You've changed and I think it's time you showed the world the new Santana Lopez." Rachel shakes her head right away to better clarify her statement. "No, said that wrong. I meant to say show them the _real _Santana Lopez. Because this Santana, I think, has always been there. Don't let your mistakes from the past affect any potential relationships of your future."

I look up at Rachel through my eyelashes and find only sincerity and a true genuineness that I am lucky to have in her. She offers me a kind smile, which I hesitantly return, and quickly follow with my famous Lopez eye roll in an attempt to hide the blush that is slowly making its way onto my cheeks.

"That was some fancy monologue there, Berry. Practicing for a new role?" I tease, with no real malice behind my words.

"Oh you know, just want to make sure I keep my juices going at all times," she retorts with a wink. "Don't worry, Santana, I'll be by your side the entire time." I nod in a silent thanks and we return to our beverages in a comfortable silence.

"So who should I be expecting to see at this shindig," I ask, breaking the temporary pause in our conversation. "You know, aside from you, Mr. and Mr. Lady Hummel, and Mercedes?"

"Well, from what I understand, the entire Glee club will be there," Rachel says, and my eyes snap back to her as she rambles on about something I'm completely disinterested in. "I think maybe with the exception of Sugar. Last I heard, her father had purchased a hotel somewhere in Costa Rica, and she spends her days there lounging around the pool area, while being waited on by hot Costa Rican men, dressed in nothing but very skimpy swimming trunks."

"So, when you say the entire Glee club, do you mean, like the _entire_ Glee club," I ask as coolly as possible. I don't think I've managed to be very convincing however, as I can see the way Rachel side glances me as she rattles off the names of our former Gleemates.

"Yup, everyone confirmed on the McKinley class of 2012 Facebook Page that JBI started. Artie, Mike Chang, Tina, Sam, Puck." I ring my hands nervously under the table as Rachel gives role call from across the table. I can feel my heartbeat quicken in anticipation of one name in particular. I'm also very aware of how Rachel is gauging my reaction to each name she calls out, making it blatantly obvious that she's dragging it out. "Brittany, Joe…" she stops now, deliberately, tapping her finger on her chin in false concentration. "Uhm, yeah, I think that's everyone."

"Oh," is all I can respond, the disappointment evident in my voice. I lean back into my chair, trying to recall at what point I actually leaned forward. I subtly sigh in relief as I move to take a sip from my coffee, and it is then that Rachel decides to speak up again.

"Oh yeah, and Quinn Fabray also RSVP'd," she says in the most cavalier way as possible. The name causes my breath to hitch, sending an unexpected gulp of hot liquid down the wrong tube. I'm immediately thrown into a very loud and I'm sure, a very unattractive fit of coughs, while I struggle to gasp for air. "Oh my God, Santana, what the hell," I can hear Rachel say, as she rushes around the table to pat my back, although it feels more like a pounding rather than a patting, but I'm too busy convulsing to protest.

"I'm sorry, I don't know what happened," I finally choke out in a ragged breath. "I must have sipped my coffee too fast or something." Rachel stops her attack on my back, while eyeing me suspiciously before returning to her seat.

"I don't know, it almost seemed like your reaction was directly related to hearing the sound of Quinn's name," Rachel implies.

"No. Why would…I mean, I just drank my coffee the wrong way," I say in a pathetic attempt to explain my little choking episode. Rachel merely raises an eyebrow, which I've learned is her silent version of "Oh, please."

"Okay, maybe I did react a little to hearing her name. But, I mean…I haven't seen or heard from Quinn in a very, _very_ long time. Of course I'm surprised to learn that she'll be attending." It wasn't entirely a lie. It had been a very long time since I saw Quinn, the last time being not exactly pleasant. She disappeared from my life, and I was too stubborn at the time to chase after her, or attempt to fix it. And since Quinn has always been equally as stubborn as I, she would have been hard pressed to attempt any kind of a reconnection, as well. The thing is, after I got over myself, I very much missed my old friend, regardless of all the bullshit that went on between us. But so much time had passed already; I didn't know where to even begin.

"Did something happen between you and Quinn?" _Oh, just jump straight into the meat of it why don't you._ "And don't lie to me, Santana. For one you're a terrible liar, and secondly…well, there is no secondly. The fact that you're a terrible liar is pretty much enough of an indication for you to _not_ lie to me."

"What makes you think something happened between Quinn and I? From what I understand she hasn't exactly been the best pen pal with _any_ of us from Glee." This, too, was also a truth. After everything that went down between us Quinn pretty much fell off the face of the planet. I had heard through the Brittany and Rachel grapevine several rumors and speculations as to the whereabouts of Quinn, but nothing concrete. One rumor was that she quit Yale, and left the states to travel around the world. There were also rumors that she found a very wealthy blue-collared young man at Yale that she married, so she didn't need to finish school, or even work for that matter. The last rumor, and perhaps my favorite rumor of all, was that she finally realized she didn't need a man to define her, and she graduated whatever school she attended at the top of her class, and left for somewhere unknown to start with a fresh slate. She was always better than anything Limo, Ohio, or any self-absorbed man could offer her.

"That's true, no one has heard from Quinn," Rachel agrees. "But every time her name is mentioned, I'm not the one who breaks out into a cold sweat and turns into some jittery, clumsy teenager." I hate that she knows me so well sometimes.

"Something had to have happened between you and Quinn. You never ask about her, you avoid the conversation if she's the main subject, and you get nervous just at the mere mention of her name. I expected, or rather hoped, that eventually you would tell me what really went on between the two of you but you never came around. Since the taboo subject will be very much present, in the flesh, at the reunion next week, I suggest you just own up to whatever it is you're keeping from me so that I can help you get through it."

"Jeez, Berry…can't you just say, 'you better tell me or else I'll nag you until you do' or something like that?" I ask, rubbing the palms of my hands into my eyes, in hopes that they will push away the exhaustion the always follows Rachel's long winded speeches.

"Now, Santana, you know that is not how I operate," she replies sweetly, batting her eyelashes at me.

"It's nothing Rachel. Really," I offer as a means to try and dissuade her from pressing the issue any further. I know it's a futile attempt because once Berry has her sights set on something, it's nearly impossible for her to forget about the subject. She challenges me by mirroring my body posture, crossing her arms at her chest and her legs at the thigh, holding my stare in defiance. In the past I would be able to scare Rachel away with just the slightest curl of my lip, but now that she's seen me actually exude any semblance of emotion or compassion, I've lost most of that power, especially when it involves Rachel just being genuinely concerned for my well-being. I begin to shift uncomfortably in my seat under the scrutiny of my best friend, and I know I've lost the battle. "Fine, okay. Quinn and I may have, under the influence of intense vulnerability and a lot of wine, slept together at Mr. Schue's wedding."

I shut my eyes in anticipation of the shrill squeal that is sure to escape from my friend's mouth, but I hear nothing. I peak through one closed eye only to find Rachel looking back at me calmly but intently. "You harass me for information and then when I tell you, you have nothing to say?" I ask incredulously.

I can feel Rachel's eyes narrow at me, and I suddenly find my cuticles to be the most interesting thing in the planet. "You two only hooked up that _one_ time?" she asks, not even trying in the slightest bit to hide the skepticism her voice is dripping with.

"Okay, fine, maybe more than once," I admit, rolling my eyes in irritation. Rachel continues to remain silent, quirking an eyebrow as the only indication that she knows I'm still not being entirely truthful. I let out a small sigh, another sign of defeat. "Fine, we hooked up for a few months, nothing serious. Just sex, and after a few months, we called it quits. And I haven't seen or heard from her since. Okay, that's it. That's all you're getting out of me Hobbit."

She regards me for a second before she nods to herself. "Good, I'm glad you were honest with me Santana. Although, if I may be honest with you, it's a good thing you didn't lie to me, because I already knew about yours and Quinn's secret arrangement." My eyes go wide and I can feel the heat start to creep up my neck. "Oh come on, Santana," Rachel continues. "You're kidding yourself if you really thought you two were quiet."

I can feel the heat creeping up my neck, and my palms start to sweat. I don't know why it's such a big deal, this wouldn't be the first time Rachel and Kurt have heard me and my late night guests, not to mention that this is something that happened almost ten years ago. But it does bother me, I'm mortified, and what makes it worse is I can't even explain why it bothers me so much. My insides are churning while Rachel talks about it like it's just another topic to cover, like what cereal we had for breakfast.

"You know, I would have always imagined you to be the louder one between the two of you, but I guess it does make sense as Quinn has always been one to voice her opinions and give command-" _Oh my god, stop!_

"Oh my God, Rach, stop!" I beg of her, burying my face into my hands.

"Okay, okay fine, I'll ease up on you," Rachel says, holding her hands up in surrender. "You've been honest with me so that's the least I can do, right?" she asks, a lot more sweetly than usual. I nod slowly in agreement, all the while eyeing her suspiciously.

We polish off the remainder of our beverages and go to stand to put on our coats. It normally isn't that cold in L.A. in the autumn, especially not for us natives of Ohio and New York, but this particular fall has been a bit more chilly than usual. We make our way towards the exit, every once in a while making eye contact which Rachel fills with an almost too innocent of a smile. I know there is more she wants to say and she is just biding her time, waiting for the right moment.

"Okay then, I guess I'll see you tomorrow, Rach," I say quickly when we exit the coffee shop; my vain attempt to escape before Rachel can say anything else.

"Yes, photoshoot tomorrow morning at 9:30. I will see you there," Rachel confirms with nod. I turn to leave but she's too quick, and she stops me by gently resting her hand on my forearm. "Thank you for being honest with me today, Santana. I know our friendship has come a long way, but there is still a part of you that finds it difficult for you to open up to me, so I want you to know that I am always grateful for the truths that you do decide to share with me."

"Uhm…thanks..." I say slowly, unsure about how to take the way she worded her last sentence to me. I try to make another break for it, but there is another gentle tug on my arm.

"I do just have one more observation that I'd like to share with you, Santana, if I may." I let out a breath, and shrug, which is all Rachel will get from me as an o.k. to continue. "It's interesting to me that out of all your exes, you've still managed to still remain friends with them. Even Brittany, who you were completely heart-broken over, remains one of your best friends to this day."

"Get to the point, Berry. Quickly."

"Well, it's just interesting that although you and Quinn always had a complicated relationship, everyone knew the two of you had this unspoken, special friendship. So, the fact that even though the thing between you and Quinn was 'just sex' as you so eloquently put it, Quinn was the only one, out of all your partners, that you cut ties with." I can feel her study me while I stare absentmindedly across the street. "So the only conclusion I can draw from that is that perhaps, it was a little more than 'just sex' and there is more to the story then you're letting on."

I drag my fingers through my hair, stilling the loose strands that blow gently in the wind. I allow myself for a brief second to re-visit all the memories that I pushed away a long time ago, the minute I do the dam has been broken and they all come flooding back. Her golden hair, the color of her eyes, the smell of her body wash, the touch of her hand, the way she sleeps. If I close my eyes I can still feel the warmth of her breath against my neck, and hear her giggle when I butterfly kiss my way along her jaw. I turn to look at Rachel, with the intention of telling her to drop it, but the look of concern is there again, pulling me out of my shell. I sigh and shake my head.

"What're you doing tonight, Berry?" She looks at me with curiosity. "Well, if we're going to do this, then we're going to need some drinks for this story."

She smiles brightly and pulls me into a quick hug. "It's a date then. Shall we?" I laugh gently and take my friend's extended hand as she pulls me towards our parked cars across the street.

**A/N: So, I hope you guys like the first chapter. The second chapter is almost complete, so I'll have that up shortly. Also, even though there is a lot of Pezberry friendship I just want y'all to know that this is still very much a Quinntana story. Anyway, review, comment, PM…you know…just let me know what y'all are thinking **** And as always, thanks for reading!**

**Oh yeah, also…I succumbed to the Tumblr universe. Insert shameless self-promotion here, _writing4nerdsdottumblrdot_**_**com**_

**So you know, if you're bored you can check it out…or not, if you don't want to, or whatever :)**


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N:**** First of all, I just wanted to say thank you all so, so much for all the wonderful reviews. I didn't expect such a voluminous response from only one chapter. **

**Secondly, the italicized portion of the story indicates a flashback, which will happen periodically throughout the story. I hope that doesn't confuse anyone.**

**Thirdly, I know that I'm constantly giving only snippets of information, and it can be somewhat frustrating, so for that I'm sorry. But where would the fun be if I played all my cards right away? ;) **

**Anyway, thanks again for reading. And as always, I'm looking forward to hearing from y'all.**

Chapter 2:

_How did it get to this point? More importantly how did I _let_ it get to this point? Four months ago I was pleasantly miserable in my status-post breakup with Brittany, happily going about my daily routines with a bitter taste in my mouth._

_Pleasantly miserable, happily with a bitter taste...okay, I know those are all textbook definitions of contradictions, but hey, if the shoe fits..._

_The reason I can say I was pleasantly miserable is because it is a much more welcomed feeling than what is currently happening to me. Yeah, I was immensely bummed about my recent breakup, and even more devastated when I found out about Brit's recent fascination with amphibian lips through Tina "Gossip Queen" Cohen-Chang. But I knew it was for the better. Brit and I were in two different places in our lives, and even though she never changed, I knew that I had. She deserved to be with someone who could be there for her, and give her the attention that is important in a relationship. However, regardless of whatever heartbreak I felt at that time, it is a far cry from this feeling of deep aching that currently resides in my chest._

_How the hell did I get to this point?_

_Oh yeah, it's because I let myself fall in love with Quinn fucking Fabray. And it's not like I can blame it on happening all of a sudden without my knowledge, because I know that THAT is total bullshit. I knew exactly what was happening, I could feel it grow stronger every time she kissed me unexpectedly, and every time I was the reason for her beautiful smile. I plummeted further whenever my name escaped her lips during her highest experiences of euphoria, and every time she nuzzled her nose deeper into my neck as she slept I knew I would be lost forever._

_And so, I let myself fall for the woman who was never available, at least not for me. I fell for the woman who had made it painstakingly clear from the very beginning that she was only in it for the sex, and I was so full of myself that I agreed to it. I so strongly believed that I could separate the sex from the feelings and that I could control my ability to get invested into a relationship that never had a chance._

_Now all I can do is watch silently as she rampages around my "room" all the while haphazardly throwing her belongings into duffel bag. I know I should say something to stop her from leaving, to prevent whatever it is that we have from ending, but nothing is coming to mind. Instead I just wander into the living room to slouch into the couch and bury my face in my hands. I can't help how emotionally attached I've become, but I know that what I'm asking of her isn't entirely unreasonable, especially when I KNOW she feels the same way about me._

_Her angry footsteps approach me, and I look up from where I'm sitting when they've abruptly stopped somewhere in the room. She's standing, now, in front of the door, clutching her duffel bag in one hand, while wiping away her tear stained cheeks with the other. I guess I should make somewhat of an attempt at wiping away my own tears, but I don't because I know it would be in vain. They haven't stopped streaming down since she uttered the words "that is not what I want."_

_"Are you sure this is what you want," she asks, trying to hide the way her voice breaks. "Because, Santana, once I walk out this door we can never go back to the way things were."_

_"Why are those our only options," I say firmly. I'm standing now because I'm angry at her, at myself, at life in general. "I know this is not what you want Quinn. Why are you still letting other people dictate your life?"_

_"You know it's not that easy for me Santana," she yells, one hand into a tight fist at her side while the other grasps even more tightly onto her bag. Thank the heavens above Kurt and Rachel had some NYADA brunch thing because this is not something I think I could've handled in hushed whispers or at a crowded train station. She rolls her eyes, frustration clearly evident in her face. "Why are you making this complicated? Everything was-"_

_"Was what? Fine?" I answer back defiantly, taking a stop closer. "I am not fine Quinn. THIS is not fine."_

_"Santana I'm sorry I don't have parents that are as accepting as yours, or that I can't adopt your 'I don't give a fuck' attitude. That is not how I work and you know that about me."_

_"So everything that has happened the last four months have meant nothing to you other than just sex?" I challenge, taking another deliberate step towards her._

_"Yes," she says calmly, averting her eyes briefly._

_"No extra feelings. You have been able to keep your emotions separate this whole time." I keep my eyes fixed on Quinr as continue to make my way towards her. I don't care if I'm making her feel uncomfortable under my scrutiny. I secretly welcome it actually, because I'm hoping it will be enough to get her to crack._

_"What do you want from me Santana," she asks, her eyes finding mine. The anger has all but disappeared and there is now a pleading look of sadness, silently begging for me to drop the subject. To forget about everything that I've brought up so we can just go back to living in the illusion we created in the hotel room back in Lima._

_In one swift move I take the last step towards Quinn and pull her into me by her waist. I close any distance between us and I press my lips into hers. I somehow manage to control my kiss, desperate to show her that I can be gentle and loving with her, I can be everything she deserves. She fights it for a millisecond, but then I can feel her lips meld into mine, and somewhere in my mind I hear her bag drop to the floor and her arms wrap around my neck to pull me in impossibly closer. I graze her bottom lip with my tongue before capturing that same lip with my own. Her fingers tangle into my hair and I in turn push my pelvis just a little further in to ensure there is no gap between us. She sighs heavily into my touch and my movements, which only encourages me to continue._

_The next time I graze her lip with my tongue she opens her mouth ever so slightly and I take it as an opportunity to gently slide my tongue further, massaging hers with my own. She exhales into my mouth, the same way she has done hundreds of times before when we're in bed and our limbs are entwined in such a way where, if it weren't for the different tones of our skin color, you wouldn't be able to tell where one began and the other ended._

_"I want you, Quinn," I whisper into her mouth when our kisses break intermittently. "I want to hold your hand in public, and text you dopey cute messages. I want to kiss you like this whenever I want, and make love to you always." I would normally hate the way my voice breaks when I voice my admissions and I would normally, most definitely, despise the way my tears expose my vulnerability, but right now I don't care. I don't give two shits and that's because I WANT her to know that somewhere along this chaotic ride it became more than spontaneous trysts and impulsive "booty calls" for me._

_"I want you, Quinn," I say again, because there are no limits as to how many times I can reiterate that. I can't stop myself before the words are spilling out of my mouth uncontrollably. I can feel Quinn's tears spill onto my cheeks as we continue this dance we've created with our lips, our music is nothing more than the sounds of our rapid breathing and the tiny, almost inaudible, whimpers that are escaping from Quinn's throat. I can feel her caving, I can feel her walls slowly begin to crumble at my touch, at my kiss, and my honesty. I can see the chink in her armor and if I pull at it just a little more..._

_"I want you, Quinn. All of you, with no restrictions, no rules. Just you. And I know you want me too."_

_And just like that she's pulled away from me, and now she's backing away from me slowly with her duffel bag once again in her hand. Her eyes are cold and distant and she's wearing the icy mask that I haven't seen since our reigning times in high school. She wipes away the last of the tears on her cheeks before raising her chin ever so slightly in defiance._

_"You have no idea what I want," she whispers with disdain. "Fuck you for ruining everything."_

_Before I can utter another word of protest she's walking out the door of our Bushwick apartment and out of my life. I crumble to the floor and in between my sobs I can hear the distant echo of her footsteps fade into nothingness._

* * *

I quickly wipe away the single tear that managed to escape my eye as soon as I hear the toilet flush. I don't know how long Rachel was in there but it was definitely long enough to relive that fan-fucking-tastic day (and I say that with the most sincere amount of sarcasm). I shake my head to compose myself and take another, to big to be considered appropriate, sip of my red wine. It is now well into the evening and Rachel now knows my entire, dramatic, pathetic love story. Much to my surprise, she sat quietly the majority of the time, only interrupting occasionally to ask a question or gasp in shock.

"Sorry," Rachel apologizes as she plops back down onto the seat next to me. "I tried to hold it as long as possible but once I break the seal there's no going back."

"Okay, thanks for that," I say with a grimace at her little over-share.

"Oh whatever, you're just as bad as I am." She reaches for her glass of wine that sits on my coffee table before turning back to me. "Okay, so then what happened?"

"What do you mean 'what happened?'"

"Well, after she basically told you to eff off. What happened after that?"

"Rach, that's it," I answer, shrugging casually. "She left and I haven't heard from her or seen her since."

"So you and Quinn have a drunken hook-up at Mr. Schue's wedding, your 'friends-with-benefits' arrangement quickly turns into something more, but she can't handle it, so she abandons ship?"

"I guess," I sigh, sinking further into the couch. I've spent the last two hours explaining how it all began, how it progressed, where it went wrong, and how it ended, and she managed to sum it all up in a quick 10-seconds. Of course I failed to include the part where I had spent a solid two hours laying on the floor, curled into the fetal position, crying quietly after Quinn had walked out the door. It wasn't until I noticed that Rachel and Kurt would be home soon that I picked myself up off the floor and headed out to roam the streets of New York until I felt remotely okay to come back to the apartment.

"What was so different about her?" I look up to meet her eyes, tilting my head in confusion. "I mean, how was she different from Brittany."

I don't know how to answer this question out loud because, truth be told, I had never really given it much thought. I loved Brittany very much, but at the same time our relationship was very high school. Our biggest dilemma was what day was a good day to go shopping or who's turn it was to be on top. My…whatever it was…with Quinn always felt like a real relationship. Adult. Mature. We would talk about books, and literature, and current events. She would respectfully challenge my ideas, and push me to think outside the box without ever making me feel any less for not pursuing college.

"I loved Brit, don't get me wrong. But with Quinn it was always different. There was always another layer underneath the surface of everything that made me feel like I wanted to…I don't know…be better." I comb my fingers through my hair as I struggle to find the words to further explain exactly what I mean. But I can't, because how does one put into words what they themselves do not understand. "She just made me want to be better."

Rachel nods her head slowly, as she takes another small sip of her wine. I don't know if this means she understands what I'm talking about, or if it's simply a polite gesture to indicate that she's heard me. "Why didn't you go after her?" Rachel asks quietly after a minute of silence.

"I don't know," I say a little louder than I intended. "And do what exactly? Continue to beg her to give me a chance?"

"Well, uhm…yeah," she says, although if she had uttered the word "duh" I'm sure it would have come out sounding exactly the same way. "If you loved her as much as you say you did, then hell yes you should've gone after her."

"No, she had made it perfectly clear that she didn't want a relationship with me," I reply, shaking my head to affirm my reasoning. "Besides, I had already tried. Santana Lopez does not grovel, and I came pretty damn close with that woman."

"Santana," Rachel gently chastises. "You _loved _her. There would have been no shame in fighting for her."

"It was all so ridiculous anyway," I say with a roll of my eyes. "I mean, how can someone be so destroyed over a relationship that never really started in the first place."

"Do you still love her?"

Another bullet I've been trying to dodge for nine years. Of course I still love her, I think about her everyday. Almost everything reminds me of her, or of the times we spent together, and no matter how hard I try to fight it she's there. She was very much present when I made the decision to pursue my degree in college, and when Rachel and I made the decision to move to L.A. And don't even get me started on any of the failed relationships I attempted after her. She fucking ruined me for everyone else. But I can't tell Rachel that, especially when I spend half the time trying to deny it myself. So I do what any rational person does when asked an ucomfortable question. I lied.

"No, I've moved on." It's better than telling Rachel that I'm still so pathetically in love with my not-even-ex-girlfriend whom I can't seem to shake. I know if I were to admit that to her she would do everything in her power to try and stage some awkward, over the top reunion. Rachel Berry may think she is all sorts of smooth, but in actuality she's the complete antithesis of anything that remotely resembles that. She studies me for a few seconds, I suppose in an attempt to gauge whether or not I'm being honest with her, so I throw her a little bone to appease her. "But I do miss her though."

"As in…?" she asks suspiciously, quirking an eyebrow in my direction.

"As in I miss my friend," I sigh. At least this particular admission is the truth. I do miss my friend. In between all the sexual tension and other bullshit that went on between us we really had forged a new foundation of friendship. I often wondered how it could be so different from when we were in high school and the answer was really quite simple. In high school we were always competing to outdo the other one, from grades to even the boys we dated. Our insane obsession with being the best at whatever often trickled into our friendship, causing this residual underlying strain to exist between us. Both of us were too stubborn and proud to acknowledge the other's strengths and it was those same characteristics that prevented us from ever backing down. It was exhausting always trying to compete with each other.

But after Mr. Schue's almost wedding, and after Quinn and I started spending more time together, it was becoming more and more obvious that that compulsive desire to best one another had disappeared. It was now replaced with a real friendship filled with encouragement, and support, and a carefree- spirit, which allowed us to just genuinely enjoy each other's company. There was no psycho cheerleading coach we needed to impress, or boy-toy we were trying to steal from the other, or student body we were trying to intimidate. Just Santana and Quinn.

"Rach, if you knew about Quinn and I, why is it that you never brought it up?" I ask, as I walk over to the kitchen to grab two glasses of water. We have been drinking for a while now, and although we've only had one bottle of wine between the two us, I know Rachel is feeling a little more tipsy then she'd ever care to admit. She's still such a lightweight when it comes to alcohol, I figure it's because she is so tiny in stature.

"I figured if you wanted to talk about it you would have said something," she answers matter-of-factly.

"That's crap, Berry. Every other person I brought back to the loft always brought about it a game of twenty one questions from you," I say, pointing my finger at her accusingly. "If anything, the situation with Quinn would have brought on the interrogator beast ten fold."

"I'm going to ignore the fact that you just called me a beast and accuse me of being nosy all in one sentence. And, like I said before, if you wanted to talk about it you would have."

"Spill, Thumbelina."

"You can't intimidate me anymore, Santana. I already know just how nice you actually can be, so save your muscle power for the weak," she says calmly. I immediately scowl and lean back into the couch, crossing my arms petulantly across my chest. "But in all seriousness, I really didn't ask about it because I truly believed you didn't want to talk about it. At that time our budding friendship was just beginning to develop, so it was still at a very fragile state. I wasn't about to risk all the progress we had made just because I was curious about your most recent sexcapade." Even though it's endearing how concerned Rachel was about preserving our newfound relationship, I still can't resist the urge to roll my eyes and shake my head at her use of the word "sexcapade."

"How can you be so sure that I didn't want to talk about it?" She is one hundred percent accurate in stating the fact that I didn't want to talk about it, but I ask anyway just because curiosity gets the best of me.

"Because every time you brought someone home you would always, without fail, torture Kurt and I with some sort of an explanation as to how you were a Godsend in bed, and then you would proceed to rate your encounter on a scale from 'may as well have slept alone to it's a miracle I can even walk today.'" I can't help but grimace at that memory, because as witty as I was back in the day, there's no denying how single-minded and crude I was. "I mean, honestly Santana, it was nauseating."

"So? That still doesn't explain why you didn't ask about Quinn," I say right away to avoid having to apologize to Rachel for putting her through that.

"Well, your little sessions of TMI ceased once Quinn started coming around. So did the women. All of a sudden you weren't interested in anyone else, or casual flings. You became equally content spending an evening at home Facetiming with Quinn," Rachel explains, quickly glancing at me. I can see the little hint of hesitancy in her face before she continues. I guess I can't really blame her since I haven't really been the most approachable when it comes to this particularly subject. "After the first time I…uhm…heard you and Quinn, I waited for the inevitable story of self-appraisal but it never came. It makes sense that you didn't though, since evidently Quinn wanted to keep the entire thing under wraps."

"Yeah, she did," I say, smiling gently to indicate no hard feelings in her deduction. "But it was more than that. For whatever reason I really wanted to respect our privacy when it came to that. With Quinn it was never about a prize, or bragging rights. It was so much more than that, and I guess I just wanted to save that for myself."

She nods quietly, returning my smile and a comfortable silence falls between us, leaving us each to our own thoughts. It's strange discussing this topic out in the open. Up until now, the only conversations I've had about that episode in my life had all been in the privacy of my own head. In the beginning it was enough to drive me insane, the constant back and forth, the second-guessing, the self-loathing, the Quinn-loathing. _Should I go after her? Was I in the wrong? No, fuck that, she messed it up, you're pathetic Santana, get over it. _It plagued my mind for a very long time. Now, it's not as constant as it was after the "break-up" first initially happened. Every once in a while I still get fleeting moments of sadness and anger, and all those other depressing thoughts about it, but I've learned to live with it. It's kind of like when someone has this chronic pain and there's nothing that can be done to rid themselves of it, but rather it's just now a part of them. Something they've learned to live with. Well, Quinn is my chronic pain. _Shit, I'm so pathetic._

"So, are you nervous to see her?" Rachel asks, breaking my train of depressing thoughts.

"Nah, it's cool," I shrug, and for a brief second I almost believe it myself. "I mean, I guess it'll be a little weird, you know? Since I haven't seen her in like, what, nine years? Sure, I guess I'm a little curious about what she's been up to, or you know, if she still looks the same and stuff. And of course there's the fact that the last time we were in the same room together it was this intense combination of either wanting to rip each other's clothes off or slap the hell out of each other. So yeah, there's that. And am I curious as to whether or not she's in a relationship now, or if she finally married America's boy next door slash successful lawyer and has 2.4 kids and lives in the Eutopia of suburbia? Yeah, of course I am, but who isn't, right?"

I glance briefly at Rachel who is now nodding slowly as I continue to mindlessly blather on. "I wonder if she's nervous to see me. Probably not, 'cause you know, she hasn't made any kind of an attempt to contact me. So it's probably safe to assume that I'm the furthest thing from her mind. But that's cool, because I'm not nervous to see her. I mean, I guess I should be a little nervous, but I'm not. I'm totally not."

I finally stop the incessant pacing that I didn't even realize I started and turn to regard Rachel who is now sitting on the couch, looking at me, speechless with both eyebrows raised so high they've practically reached her hair line. I have now been rambling on for God knows how long, which Rachel and I both know is a telltale sign of my nervousness. I've given myself away, and there is no doubt in my mind that Rachel will let it go.

"You're nervous. And it's cute," she says in a tone that's far too condescending for my liking. "And I want to help you. We need a plan."

"A plan? What're you talking about?"

"We are going to make you look hotter than you've ever looked before."

"Uhm, how about no," I sigh rubbing my hands over my eyes.

"We'll have a full on primping and pampering day," Rachel continues to herself. "My treat of course."

"I stand firm at no."

"We'll have to keep your attendance top secret in order to achieve the full effect of surprise." She is now completely ignoring me.

"I don't think this is a good idea."

"We'll get your hair done, and buy you the hottest dress."

"Or I can just talk and talk and you can continue to ignore me."

"Killer shoes that'll accentuate your killer calves."

"Rachel…"

"And your nails. We've got to do something about those nails, because from what I understand long nails are frowned upon in the lesbian community."

"Rachel!" She finally stops her scheming and acknowledges my presence for the first time since the wheels in her head began spinning, beaming from ear to ear.

"She's going to wish she never left."

"You're impossible, you know that?"

"Oh please, I know you're not one to turn down a free day at the spa and salon so just agree that this is a battle you have no chance it winning," she dismisses, completely disregarding all my pleas of protest. "It'll save you a lot of time."

"Fine," I surrender, sinking back into the couch next to her. "But no more wine for you. You get extra bossy when you're drunk."

"I am not drunk," she exclaims, disgusted at my accusation, but her flushed cheeks and glassy eyes betray her.

"Maybe not yet, but you're getting pretty damn close," I respond as I pull the glass of wine from her hand.

"Okay, fine," she pouts.

"How about we put in a movie, and drink a lot of water before I send you on your merry way. You have an early morning tomorrow, and I can't have my number one client looking like a hot mess for Nylon Mag."

"Fair enough, but only if we can watch Lés Mis."

"Will it get you to shut your trap and forget about your little plan?"

"Yes," she answers firmly, nodding once. "For now."

I groan, but throw my hands up in defeat. Lés Mis is a relatively long movie, and we need the extra time to sober up my scheming little friend, plus I'm about one hundred percent sure I'll be asleep before Fantine falls into eternal slumber anyway. Rachel squeals in excitement and rushes to my entertainment center to pluck out the movie from its shelf.

"Hey, Rach," I say, drawing her attention from the blu-ray player for a second. "Thanks. You know, for not judging me and stuff. And I'm sorry I kept it from you for so long. It's nice to know I have someone to talk to about it."

She looks down at the movie in her hands, smiling bashfully to herself. It's adorable how shy she gets when I pay her a compliment or show her any type of gratitude. We've been genuine friends for so long now, but it still catches her by surprise whenever I show any kind of compassion towards her. It kills me actually, because it's always a blatant reminder as to how much I truly was a bitch to her in high school. Even though she always dismisses my apologies for my high school behavior and insists that it's all water under the bridge, I still can't ignore the tinge of remorse that sits heavy on my conscience.

She doesn't say anything, because what else is there to say. She nods silently before returning to the electronics in front of her and I grab the blanket from the back of the couch just as the movie begins to play.


	3. Chapter 3

_I rest my hands on either side of the sink as I stare absentmindedly into the water that is coming out of the faucet in front of me. I have probably been in the bathroom long enough to attract unwanted attention, but I don't really care at the moment. I just really needed to find a place to myself for a brief moment to gather my thoughts, and the bathroom seemed like the only logical solution. I glance up into the mirror to meet my own eyes, filled with doubt and, if I squint hard enough, something that closely resembles fear. _

_"What're you even doing, Santana," I ask my reflection. I stare at myself for three more seconds before shaking my head and returning my attention to the water below me._

_I rub my hands together, working the coconut scented soap into a bubbly lather as I replay everything that has happened thus far at this failed wedding. It all started when I was standing outside of the chapel, just out of anyone's line of sight, where I was working up the courage to finally make my way inside. I knew I'd be seeing Brittany and Sam together, and it was just taking me a few minutes to work up the nerve to face it. I didn't even notice her come up beside me until she had spoken up._

_"Are you actually going to go inside, S, or just try and listen to the nuptials from out here?" She had said to me, her smirk clearly evident in the tone of her voice._

_"I'm just giving everyone ample time to get settled before I go inside. I'm far too hot to be moseying in with the rest of the mediocre looking." She rolled her eyes at my retort, but smiled anyway._

_"Such a typical response."_

_"Well, I'd ask you the same question, Q. What are you still doing out here ice princess?" I had asked, finally turning to face her._

_"Same as you. Biding my time before I go in. I almost didn't even come back for this," she admitted, as she turned back to face the chapel. "It doesn't feel like home anymore."_

_I nodded silently in agreement. I knew exactly what she meant by that, because the more time I spend away from Lima, the more and more it becomes unrecognizable. "Rachel says the same thing."_

_"So, do you want me to hold your hand on the way in to keep you stabilized or what," she asked, her smirk from earlier returning. _

_"Please. I can handle this like I can handle Puckerman on his horniest of days."_

_"Fine, I'll see you inside then," she said innocently before she turned towards the chapel. Before I could stop myself I had reached out and tugged on her sleeve._

_"Wait, just hold on for a minute," I winced at the pathetic tone in my voice._

_"Yes?" I wanted to slap her feigned look of innocence right off her face._

_"Maybe, you know. We can walk in together. I mean, you're not nearly as hot as I am, but you're still a far cry from everyone in there. Might as well garner as much attention as possible." I tried to be as cool as possible, but I'm sure the apprehension in my voice was obvious to Quinn; she had always been so damn observant._

_"I never thought I'd see the day where Santana Lopez would be nervous to run into an ex," she had teased with a shoulder bump. It was enough to result in the immediate aversion of my eyes, and my typical foot scuffing. I hated how accurate her assumption was, but I could do nothing to even remotely pretend that THAT wasn't the case at all. Even though it was my decision to break up my long distance relationship with Brit, I was still devastated to find out she had moved on so quickly. And to make matters worse, with Trouty Mouth. You can imagine how shocked I was since I could have sworn it was just last year ago when he was madly in love with Mercedes. Quinn had hit a still very sensitive subject, and to her credit, she knew it the minute the words came out of her mouth_

_Her expression immediately softened, and she apologetically rested her hand on my crossed forearms. "I'm sorry, San. That was a bad joke on my part. Listen, I have a feeling tonight is going to be a very long night. How about we stick together?" I nodded with a small smile to show my appreciation and we walked into the chapel together. We had been inseparable the remainder of the evening._

_Now here I am, cowardly hiding away in the women's restroom struggling to figure out just what the hell is going on. Let's recap shall we:_

_At the church she made a comment about hating all men, and then referenced Gloria Steinem, probably one of the gayest straight feminists out there. When we got to the reception she immediately pulled me onto the dance floor with her, even after she had received several invitations from some, I'll admit, attractive men. Then, after I dragged her to the bar where we flashed our fake ID's, she complimented my dress while grazing her hand up my arm in a manner deemed a little more than platonic. _

_While we continued to harbor our alcohol craving we engaged in probably the most genuine conversation we'd ever exchanged in our entire friendship. She asked about my life in New York, and how well I was adjusting to living with the wannabe Barbara Streisand and Lady Pants. She even went as far as to say how proud she was of me for following my dreams and not settling for Louisville when she knew it wasn't what I really wanted. And I, in turn, inquired about things in New Haven and surprised myself when I realized that I was actually genuinely interested in what had been going on in her life. Even more than that, I was actually happy things were going her way. And just before I retreated to the restroom to gather my thoughts, she admitted to enjoying slow dancing with a woman._

_All that other stuff aside, I'd be lying if I said I hadn't been noticing all the lingering glances and chanced physical contact Quinn and I had been exchanging. My particular favorite was when I had some cake frosting on my bottom lip and she stepped right up to me and wiped it away with the pad of her thumb, all the while biting on her bottom lip as she did so. And even though her eyes were undeniably fixed on my lips, I couldn't ignore how the color of her normally cool hazel eyes, were now dark with arousal._

_Am I really going to do this? _

_Everyone knows Quinn is straighter than a ruler, but right now I can't seem to shake that look in her eyes. Clearly, this is going to be something that we both can blame on our current inebriated state, not to mention that she is totally hating on the entire male population right now while I'm still recovering from the whole Bram thing. And let's face it, Quinn is fucking hot. I'll be the last one to admit it to her face, I'd sooner die than give her that satisfaction, but you would have to be completely blind not to notice it. And as much as I hate to admit it, there is something about her arrogant demeanor that drives me crazy, in both good and bad ways._

_I finish washing my hands and adjust some of my loose curls around my shoulder, retouch my make up and give myself another once over through the mirror. I've weighed the pros and cons, analyzed the events of the evening and considered heavily the outcomes of any scenario. I can only raise my chin confidently and through the mirror, give my famous Santana Lopez smirk._

_"Fuck it." _

_And just like that I'm exiting the restroom and bee-lining straight for a particular blonde._

* * *

"…And ultimately I think I've just decided to drop out of show business all together and sign up with the Ringling Brothers circus."

"Sounds great, Rach," I offer half-heartedly before I realize what exactly it is I'm agreeing to. "Wait, what the hell? There's no way I'm going to let-"

"Relax, Santana, I'm just kidding. While I've always found the circus to be quite entertaining, being around that much fire, and that many elephants scares the hell out of me. It was just my way of bringing you back to reality."

"Oh, very funny Berry. We'll see who's laughing when I've successfully smuggled three elephants wielding fiery batons into your bedroom." She smiles at me, completely unfazed by my empty threats.

"You've been quiet the entire car ride, Santana," Rachel says sympathetically. "I know you're nervous but I promise you, it will be okay."

"How many times do I have to tell you, I'm not nervous." I know that definitely wasn't the most convincing argument just by the way Rachel looks at me, so instead of instigating more harassment I, instead, turn back to the window to return to watching the trees outside as they whiz by in a blur. Kurt and Blaine picked us up twenty minutes ago, and we still have probably another ten minutes left in our travels, which is ample amount of time for me to continue to dwell in my thoughts.

I had been replaying that bathroom scene since our plane touched ground in Lima yesterday. That could have been the turning point of everything that happened between Quinn and I. At that moment, staring at myself in the mirror of that bathroom, I could have made the responsible decision to ignore everything that had happened and just continue on with the evening without letting anything else go further. But nope. I let my ego dictate my actions that night, and it was a losing battle ever since.

"Santana, you have us three. We're the only ones that know what happened between you and Quinn. Well, besides Quinn of course," Kurt offers from the passenger seat in front of me. He turns to face me, gently patting my knee to offer assurance. "You don't have anything to worry about. It's been a long time, and you my friend, are a force to be reckoned with. We'll be with you the entire night. Plus, you look fabulous."

Leave it to Hummel to make someone feel better by stroking their ego. Admittedly, I do look fabulous. Rachel made good on her word and we spent the entire day in a spa and finished the day with her glam squad getting ready for the reunion. After a much needed massage and sauna session, her team went to work on my hair, and makeup. I'm now rocking a middle part, my hair falling into loose waves down my back, and get this…highlights. I may or may not have had a minor panic attack at the idea of highlights, because I usually prefer the natural look, but the end result definitely won me over. The new do combined with my skin tight grey snakeskin dress matched with white pumps had even Blaine staring as I walked towards their car. I've never been one to shy away from attention, but even that isn't enough to ward off the butterflies in my stomach.

With my permission, Rachel had taken it upon herself to fill in Kurt and Blaine on my rocky history with Ms. Fabray. According to Rachel, they had gone through the predictable gamut of emotions: confusion, skepticism, apathy, giddiness, blah blah blah. I had to mentally prepare myself before meeting up with them, but much to my surprise I was merely met with a comforting smile from Blaine and a reassuring hug from Kurt. All he said was, "You got this girl." It wasn't much, but for whatever reason it was comforting in all the right ways. Like I said before, who would have ever guessed that I'd be best friends with Kurt Hummel and Rachel Berry?

"And Brit," I add, chancing a glance at Rachel next to me. She scrunches her brow in confusion, I'm assuming trying to pinpoint when it was exactly that I told my ex-girlfriend. "Brit knows too."

"When did you tell her?" Rachel asks, turning a little to face me better. I however do not return the gesture and simply continue looking out my window.

"Yesterday. Just after we landed. I met her for coffee. She and Sam are staying at the hotel just around the corner from McKinley." I can feel Rachel's curious glare from next to me even though I'm facing the other way, and I can definitely feel Kurt's curiosity emanating from the glances he keeps throwing my way through the visor mirror.

"And…" Rachel urges, unable to contain her curiosity.

"And, I told her," I respond casually shrugging my shoulder. Rachel crosses her arms, indicating that this response is not satisfactory. I don't know why I let her get to me. It's probably because I know just how good of a friend she is and it kills me that I've somehow developed this good conscience. "Brittany is one of my best friends, and I've never kept anything from her. Plus, I felt like I could use as many allies as possible for tonight."

"How did she take it?" This time it is Blaine who asks from the driver seat.

"She took it well. It really didn't surprise her all that much, because, according to her, there was always some sexual tension between Quinn and I. I don't know how she came to that conclusion but you all know Brit. She's always had some weird sixth sense about stuff like that."

Rachel nods accordingly, and sighs as she turns back to sit the right way in her seat. "Quinn won't be the only one there, Santana. There will be several alums that we can catch up with to keep you distracted," Rachel offers with another one of her genuine smiles.

"Speaking of others," I say turning slightly to look at Rachel. "How the hell is Artie invited to this? I mean, I understand Tina and Blaine, since they are Mike and Kurt's plus ones, and Brit because…well, Brit just always finds a way around the rules. But Artie?"

"Artie is Puck's plus one," Blaine explains, glancing at me briefly through the rear-view mirror. My eyebrows instinctively shoot up, and I'm sure that Rachel is wearing the same look of shock on her face next to me. "Not like that you guys. Puck and Artie just remained really good friends. You know, after Puck came out of juvie and declared Artie his community service. They've been best buds ever since."

I laugh quietly, kicking myself for automatically going to the gay assumption. I guess I never really paid much attention to how much Artie and Puck hung out in high school because I was too busy throwing verbal daggers at the four-eyed underclassman for stealing my woman. To be honest with you, Artie had never really done anything to me in high school, and I'm sure his being deathly afraid me played a large part in that, but still. He and the other guys from Glee were there for me during my whole coming out debacle, so that means something.

We pull into the parking lot of the posh country club that was the decided venue for our reunion, and just like that the tiny butterflies in my stomach have magically grown into Boeing 747 sized pterodactyls. The clubhouse overlooks, what I assume is the 18th hole and is surrounded by ponds and towering maple trees. Even in the dark of the night I can still make out the bright red, yellow, and orange leaves that hang loosely from the branches above. I love Los Angeles, but there's no denying the beauty of an Ohio autumn. I pull my black pea coat tighter to shield myself from the evening chill and shove my hands deep into the pockets. I glance around the parking lot at some of the other patrons making their way into the clubhouse. I recognize a few guys from the football team, and a couple of former Cheerios, but no one really worth rushing up to for an enthusiastic greeting.

Speaking of greetings, I hadn't really given much thought as to how I would tackle that particular dilemma when the time came. And now that that scenario is potentially only a few minutes away I slowly begin to panic. I scan the parking lot nervously for a familiar blonde head while in my head trying to come up with the strategy that will make me look and appear both enviously cool and ridiculously hot. However all I can picture is my signature awkward wave followed very closely by, what I'm sure will be some unintelligible noises. I'm fucking screwed.

Rachel weaves her arm around mine just as I'm taking another deep breath, exhaling slowly. She gives my arm a quick squeeze and offers me one of her award winning smiles. I feel another arm weave it's away on through my unoccupied arm, and I'm not surprised to see Kurt flanking the other side, also donning his best smile.

"God, you guys are such cheeseballs," I chastise, rolling my eyes in good nature.

"Ladies, I don't think there's any denying the fact that we are the hottest bitches here," Kurt says confidently, squealing lightly with excitement.

"I'm not normally one to boast about my appearance, as staying humble has been detrimental in keeping a good rapport with my fanbase." I sigh to myself, throwing my head back in impatience as Rachel continues to ramble on. "However, I have to agree with you this time, Kurt. We look fabulous. Especially you Santana. Mission complete."

"Oh my god, can we not you guys," I plead at both of the theatre geeks attached to my arms. "Can we just get this over with as quickly as possible?"

"Okay then, lady lover," Kurt says as he extends his free arm towards the entrance of the clubhouse. "Lead the way."

I'm slowly coming to terms with the fact that I have reached the point of no return. In a matter of minutes I will come face to face with the one person that broke me so long ago. I have, in the past nine years, created so many different scenarios in my head as to how my inevitable meeting with Quinn Fabray would play out. They've ranged anywhere from a mature, level headed approach to me resulting in a pathetic weepy mess. However, all the scenarios result in one of us storming away without ever looking back. I guess, now's a good a time as any to find out.

I take another deep breath, straighten my back and square my shoulders. I'm ready, and I've made the firm decision to accept whatever outcome is of the evening. "Okay, lady and gentlemen," I say, meeting Rachel, Kurt and Blaine in the eyes with my most convincing confidence. "Let's do this."

* * *

I don't really know what I was expecting when we walked into the banquet hall reserved for the McKinley class of 2012. I guess I was expecting the same cheesy nylon balloon decorations mixed with cheap streamers and an even tackier theme. That was, after all, what all of our high school dances consisted of, even the important ones like homecoming and prom. Not to mention we were never allowed to venture anywhere other than McKinley's very own old, dingy gym that always smelled of failure and stinky boy sweat. Well, much to my surprise, the banquet hall at the country club was nothing that I was used to.

The large room housed several round tables that each sat ten people. All the tables were decorated with ivory colored linens, a simple yet elegant fall-themed centerpiece, and several lit candles that matched the color of the linens, the light flickering from the wick matching the color of the incandescent chandeliers that hang from above. In the center of the room was an adequately sized dance floor, and just boyond that a stage and the DJ. If I craned my neck just a little bit I could see the bar in the room next door. There were no tacky decorations, or cringe-worthy appetizers that consisted of some questionable meat product wrapped in what one could only assume was an old pancake.

Patrons mingle around the room in dark colored suits and flattering cocktail dresses while carrying around glasses filled with champagne, wine, whiskey or scotch or some other amber colored beverage. Waiters and waitresses weave their way in and out of the crowd gracefully, offering platters of tuna tartar, cilantro and chili rubbed grilled prawns, or prosciutto wrapped gouda atop toasted baguettes, just to name a few. This was very much an adult party, and even though the attendees were the same people I went to high school with, nothing about any of it feels familiar in the slightest bit.

We've been at this shindig now for just over an hour and I have yet to report anything of substance. Upon entering the hall, we were immediately surrounded by Artie, Tina, Mike and Brittany. Brittany, who is always a welcomed energy, immediately wrapped me in a bear hug, kissed me on the cheek and proceeded to barrage me with compliments. Of course I had to return the gesture, because lets face it, Brits has always looked stunning and after all these years she's managed to maintain her very fit dancer's body. I have to work relatively hard at my good physique by regularly attending spin classes, going on morning runs, not to mention trying to maintain a reasonably healthy diet in my busy lifestyle. But Brittany maintains her weight and ideal tone effortlessly because what she does for a living gives her that extra perk.

Mike and Tina are living a peaceful life in Chicago where Tina is a high school English Teacher, and also in charge of their Glee club. Mike still dances, but more recreationally than professionally, teaching kids and adult hip hop dance classes on the weekends. During the week he is a Pediatrician; looks like he followed in his father's footsteps. After all that hoopla and unnecessary whining from both him and Tina he ended caving and giving in to his father's demands after all.

"It's not like that," Mike had explained earlier. "I loved dancing in college, but after a while I realized I couldn't do it for a living. And I love kids and helping kids, so now I get to do both. The demands of a pediatrician aren't as extensive as those of surgeon, so it allows me to still dance on the weekends." He and Tina have a 4-year old daughter, named Lily and are expecting their second in a few months. I always knew they would end up together, no one could ever calm crazy Tina down other than Mike, and Tina has always been supportive of whatever made Mike happy. It's comforting to see that things have worked out for them.

Artie and I didn't really exchange much conversation during the initial greet, mostly because the conversation was quickly taken over by Rachel and Kurt. We exchanged cordial hello's, but that was pretty much the extent of our interaction. As I stated before, Artie and I had a rocky relationship and high school, and even though I've moved past all of that and left the immature behavior in 2012, I'm not sure how he feels about me. So rather than be fake, or pretend like I never admitted to his face that I didn't mind being a bitch, I decided to excuse myself from the group to quench my thirst. Now here I am, an hour later, sitting miserably by myself at a table, scrolling idly through my emails on my phone. While it's been nice "revisiting" memories from the past, there have been the occasional, "you were so terrible back then," comments that I was worried about. On top of the occasional reminders of how much I sucked in high school, there has been no sign of the one person I was dreading slash looking forward to seeing the most.

"Do you mind if I join you?" I look up from my phone to see that Artie across the table from me, holding a glass of chardonnay in his hand. He smiles kindly, and rounds the table skillfully with one hand and sets the glass of wine down in front of me. "You've been nursing that same glass of wine since you got here. I can only assume that's not even cold anymore."

"Yes, you're right," I nod, smiling gratefully. "Thank you."

"So, Santana, Rachel tells me you're very good at your job," Artie says pulling a bottle of beef from the cup holder attached to his wheelchair.

"She only says that because I managed to get her a meeting with Tarantino last week," I scoff. It is rumored that Mr. Tarantino is planning a prequel to the initial Kill Bill, and he's looking to cast some other lead roles. While I'm having a hard time picturing a katana wielding Berry, who can't even slice a tomato without nicking her finger, I think it would be a great way for Rachel to break out of a specific casting type.

"No, she speaks very highly of you Santana," Artie says without missing a beat. "She says you're the hardest working person she knows."

"And?" I ask, narrowing my eyes speculatively.

"And nothing."

"You don't have any sarcastic retort, or witty comment you'd like to add?" I cross my arms across my chest, preparing myself for whatever it is that Artie has to say.

"No. I told her that that didn't surprise me. You know, you being a hard worker and all." This catches me off guard, because the last thing I was expecting was a compliment from one of the victims of my torment from my high school days. "Don't look so surprised, Santana. You always were a hard worker, I've always thought that about you. You scored in the top ten percentile of your graduating class, you were the co-captain of a National Champion Cheerleading team for three consecutive years, part of a national winning Glee club, and got a full scholarship to college. You may have partied hard in high school, but there's no denying that you definitely put in the work."

"Wow, uhm…I uhm…I don't know what to say Artie," I manage to mumble. "Thank you."

He gives me his famous close lipped smile and nods. We sit in a comfortable silence for a little bit, watching our fellow Alum dance to whatever throw-back song the deejay is playing.

"Artie, listen," I begin. He turns his wheelchair to face me, wearing a look of curiosity on his face. "I know I wasn't exactly the friendliest to you in high school." He quirks an eyebrow, expectantly. "Okay fine, I was a bitch in high school. But I just wanted to apologize for the way I treated you back then. You never did anything to deserve to be treated like that. So you know…yeah, I'm sorry."

Artie stares at me quietly for a few seconds. I start to shift uncomfortably in my seat under his scrutiny. "You were definitely awful in high school." I sigh loudly, fully prepared for whatever else he wants to throw in there. "But, I never believed it was because you were a bad person, and I _know_ it aint 'cuz you didn't like me, because you and I both know I'm fly," he boasts, brushing imaginary dirt off his left shoulder, which makes me chuckle. "I think you, just like all of us, had a rough time in High School. You know, it may have taken you a little longer than the rest of us, but you seemed to have found the right place for you."

I never gave this kid enough credit. Other than the fact that I always thought he was by far, the best male vocal in the entire Glee club, half the time I couldn't even remember his name. That's probably because I would always refer to him as "wheels," "four eyes," and/or "cyborg." I always made it a point to not let my academic achievements and extra curricular activities be the reason for my attention in high school because I always associated those things with slushies. So I made it a point to attract attention by being the fiercest HBIC in all of Lima. It's flattering to know that Artie thought more of me than a cheerleader and a bitch, but at the same time it's somewhat uncomfortable. I'm not used to genuine compliments, even from Rachel, let alone from someone who I probably exchanged 10 sentences with in high school, all of which were unpleasant.

"So," I clear my throat. "What have you been up to Artie? Last I heard you were attending a film school in Brooklyn."

"Yes, I graduated at the top of my class," Artie beams, and I'm thankful for the sudden change in topic. "I started out small, doing local commercials, but eventually worked my way up. Now, I can honestly say I've managed a pretty successful career in documentaries. One of which was featured on HBO."

"That's amazing Artie, congratulations," I say genuinely, offering my proudest smile. "What was the documentary on?"

"Cheerleaders, and the regime of their strict and sometimes unfair coaches."

"Oh shit, I totally watched that," I exclaim excitedly. It was a very well done documentary, and highlighted everything that was cheerleading, from the short skirts, to the inside backstabbing, to the eating disorders. It was very easy to relate to because I had been a part of such a thing my entire high school career. If it weren't for Glee club it would have been all I knew. "It was really good, Artie. Wow, I'm officially impressed."

"It's one of my favorites out of all the documentaries I've done," he says, blushing subtly. "I tried to get some comments from Sue, but I was quickly denied and then threatened to be rolled from the tallest hill she could find." I shake my head in disgust. Of course that was the response of Sue Sylvester. She will go to any lengths to protect the reputation of both herself and that of her precious Cheerios, regardless of who she hurt along the way.

"Well, congratulations," I say raising my glass in his direction. He nods humbly before clinking his bottle with my glass just as a familiar song starts to play. "Holy crap, are they playing '_Gold digger_'?"

"Yes, that is definitely _Gold Digger_," Artie laughs, turning to look at the crowd on the dance floor, which has erupted with energy. He turns back to me with an indiscernible look on his face. "What do you say, Lopez? How about a dance? To celebrate our new found…understanding." I can only laugh and nod. Artie backs away from the table and with a chivalrous bow, extends his arm in the direction of the dance floor to allow me to lead the way.

After a couple songs, Artie and I were soon joined by Mike, Tina, Rachel, Kurt and Blaine on the dance floor. We continued to dance in a group through several songs, even managing to recreate some old Glee choreography through some familiar tunes like Florence and the Machines "Dog Days are Over." The dance floor became increasingly crowded as each song passed, and soon I was desperate for a break, a drink, and some cool air. After a while I managed to stealthily sneak off the dance floor in the direction of the bar.

It's curious how something can be plaguing your mind for days, for years and it is momentarily forgotten through the power of music. I was enjoying myself so much so on the dance floor, surrounded by my friends and the awesome music of Katy Perry and Pink that I allowed myself to forget about the one thing that was to be the most important part of the entire evening. I allowed myself to let my guard down, and it is for that reason that I was so caught off guard at the sight of her, sitting at the bar casually, by herself, ordering a drink from the bartender.

And just like that I am nineteen again, brushing away the bangs that fell loosely over her eyes, struggling to breathe as she straddled my hips tickling me relentlessly, brushing the pad of my thumb across her cheek, snuggling under one blanket with her watching our favorite Pixar movie on the television. Just like that I'm kissing her under the rain, kissing her under the stars, kissing her under the safety of my linens. Just like that, I am running my hands up and down her body, I am intertwining my fingers with hers as she tries desperately to control her breathing, and just like that she's throwing her head back in complete euphoria, shutting her eyes tightly as she whispers my name across her lips. And in that same instant, I am nineteen again, begging her not to leave me, crumbling onto the floor, racked with tears while her footsteps float further away.

Suddenly the air in the room is thick and heavy, and the temperature is stifling. I can feel the blood rushing to my cheeks, my palms grow cold and clammy and I am slowly finding it harder and harder to breath. What the hell was I thinking? I was kidding myself into believing that I was ready to come face to face with the ghost from my past. I wasn't ready for this, I was never ready for this, I may never BE ready for this. Hell, I didn't even have any sort of admirable story about anything life changing to brag about or make me seem more interesting.

Let's face it, my profession happened to be a result of a mixture of sheer luck and the fact that I was best friends with one of the most talented people I know. That combined with all my failed relationships plus the fact that I can't get over a particular blond, and my life, ladies and gentlemen, is dripping with mediocrity. Of course this was never a problem before, and up until this very moment I was perfectly content with how my life has turned out. But all of a sudden, standing here just a few feet from everything that I believed to be perfection, it doesn't seem good enough.

Maybe it's because for as long as I've known Quinn she has strived to be the best at everything and she never settled for anything less (except for maybe that brief period our senior year when she got kind of cray-cray). Being around her was always such a constant reminder of how much of a slacker I was, and I think there was always a small part of me that believed that I did not deserve to be loved by her.

As I stand a few feet away from her I take moment to admire how beautiful she truly is. She's wearing a midnight blue dress paired with a black belt and some black pumps. Her hair is parted down the middle and falls in loose waves around her shoulder. She looks flawless and every bit as gorgeous as I remembered. If anything, time has only been generous to my old friend. In a split second I make a hasty decision and turn on my heel in the opposite direction. She hasn't seen me yet and if I can make it to the other room without being noticed I can at least compose myself a little better before attempting to start a conversation with her.

I've made it back into the main hall and I can feel a wave of relief wash over me. I rest my hands on my hips and take in deep slow breaths, and I talk myself down. I wish Rachel was here, at least she would be able to talk some sense into me, to calm me down while feeding me lines of encouragement at the same time. I can feel my heart rate slow down and my breathing is slowly beginning to even out. I did it, I managed to avoid the most awkward reunion ever.

And just as my heartbeat falls back into rhythm and my arms fall easily at my side, I'm thrown again into immediate turmoil. There is a soft hand on my bicep, someone leaning into me ever so slightly from behind and the most sultry voice that I have ever known speaking into my ear.

"I know I've used this line before, but I must say…you are killing it in that dress."

**A/N: Hi everyone. First off, just wanted to say thank you for all your reviews and your continued support. You're all wonderful, beautiful people **

**Secondly, Sorry for the super long delay in updates. School and life is starting to slow down so hopefully I'll be able to update more. Anyway, any questions or comments, feel free to hit me up here or on tumblr. Thanks again for your support and encouragement guys, means the world! Looking forward to hearing from y'all!**


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